


deciding where to die (deciding where to fight)

by KelseyO



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, mostly simulation vs reality, post-5x11, shaw processing root's death ish, vague suicide ideation but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s never been like this before. Like violent static behind her eyes, like a ticking bomb in her chest, like whatever semblance of a heart she has isn’t beating quite as dully as she’s used to.</p><p>[“I’m not feeling anything.”]</p><p>She doesn’t understand why they’ve let this simulation continue for so long. She doesn’t understand why they haven’t added some new stimuli to intervene, blow her up, put a bullet in her head.</p><p>(She doesn’t understand why so many signs are pointing to this not being a simulation at all.)</p><p>[[post-5x11. title from "polarize" by twenty one pilots.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	deciding where to die (deciding where to fight)

**Author's Note:**

> Reese can't just tell Shaw to decide to fight and expect a tøp song to not get stuck in my head.

[ _polarize is taking your disguises_  
_separating them, splitting them up from wrong and right_  
_it’s deciding where to die and deciding where to fight  
deny, deny, denial_ ]

 

[+]

 

Maybe she’s still not convinced this isn’t all just simulation number 7,164 or maybe it’s just easier than tapping her earpiece and not hearing Root’s voice, but she can’t stop touching that little patch of flesh behind her ear.

 

She presses and rubs and sometimes scratches just a little, as if her nail might uncover some hidden indicator—a microchip letting her know that this is all in her head, another secret message from Root proving it’s real…

 

Oh, right. Root is dead.

 

[ _“This is not a simulation.”_ ]

 

Her brain is churning, always turning that idea around and around inside her skull, flipping it over and inside out and backwards but never quite settling on an answer. In every simulation where Root died—she remembers all of them, individually—it was always at someone else’s hand, because Shaw could never pull the trigger, and it always happened in front of her. She’s watched it happen hundreds, maybe thousands of times, maybe more times than she’s watched any complete stranger take one (or several) of her bullets. Samaritan always made her watch, made her look, made her _see_.

 

But Root died miles away. It wasn’t instantaneous, wasn’t a single shot to the head or the heart. She bled out, slowly, secretly, and now she’s gone.

 

This can’t be real, she thinks again and again and again. This isn’t how it happens. This is the AI getting bored with her stubbornness, this is Greer and company getting sloppy, this is an opportunity for her to grab the nearest firearm and start over again. She’ll get Root to wear a bulletproof vest, or take out the sniper before he gets his shot, or bust into the hospital and stitch Root up herself… something. Anything.

 

[ _“See, I’m made for this kind of work. None of this bothers me. I don’t feel guilty or scared. I don’t make friends, so I have nothing to lose.”_ ]

 

It’s never been like this before. Like violent static behind her eyes, like a ticking bomb in her chest, like whatever semblance of a heart she has isn’t beating quite as dully as she’s used to.

 

[ _“I’m not feeling anything.”_ ]

 

She doesn’t understand why they’ve let this simulation continue for so long. She doesn’t understand why they haven’t added some new stimuli to intervene, blow her up, put a bullet in her head.

 

(She doesn’t understand why so many signs are pointing to this not being a simulation at all.)

 

Holding a gun in her hand isn’t the same as it used to be. Not that there’s fear or even adrenalin, really; it’s that it would be so easy to do everyone a favor and restart the simulation.

 

(Root had never turned a gun on herself. Root had never threatened, offered, to go with her.)

 

This simulation feels different.

 

[ _“This is not a simulation.”_ ]

 

They’re supposed to feel virtually identical to real life. Each new simulation is supposed to learn from the last one’s mistakes. Flaws are supposed to be eliminated one by one.

 

[ _“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”_ ]

 

She thinks she might hear Greer’s voice in her head more often than her own, taunting her about how blurred the lines have become, how lost and confused she is.

 

[ _“This is not a simulation.”_ ]

 

It doesn’t feel like anything anymore, pressing the barrel to her temple or the notch under her jaw or between her lips.

 

[ _“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”_ ]

 

She puts the gun away tonight.


End file.
